The world I know
by lostveracity
Summary: Is it possible to straddle the lines of life and death? Of Whole and hollow? It has been two years since Aizen’s defeat. For the living, life has to go on. [Spoilers up to 288]  UlquiHime & IchiRuki.
1. Counting Blue Cars

Title: The world I know  
Rating:T  
Pairing: UlquiHime --with some IchiRuki & maybe a hint of TatsuRenji, much later on.  
Summary: It has been two years since Aizen's defeat, and yet questions remain. Is it possible to straddle the lines of life and death? Of Whole and hollow?  
Warning: Spoilers up to 286. Mmm, crack.  
Disclaimer --I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters I am going to play with. They belong to Tite Kubo & his publishers. 

**--Chapter One--**

Counting Blue Cars

Inoue Orihime leaned against the pedestrian railing, staring down at the steady rivulets of cars below her. It was the main artery of traffic between the suburbs such as Karakura Town and the busier districts of Tokyo's metropolitan centers. She pictured, as her flighty brain was wont to do, that the cars were blood cells moving to and from a beating heart, that the commuters; harried businessmen and families with children pressed all eyes against the glass for anything to amuse them, were like the oxygen being carried along with the flow.

Cities needed people to thrive the way the body needed oxygen, right?

While she pondered this, her lips moved almost unconsciously. "One..two..three..."

Tatsuki, her best friend, rejoined her side, and lightly nudged the apparently daydreaming Orihime. One hand held out a can for her to take. "Here. I bought you a drink. You like the Aloe Peach Yogurt stuff, right?" Her tone was a bit unsure, but she had long ago learned that the stranger the combination, the more likely Orihime was to relish whatever it was.

"Seven...eight...ni---Oh! Tatsuki! Yes! How did you know that was one of my favorites?" Slightly glazed expression snapped back into focus, and a broad smile curled over the ginger-headed girl's mouth as she accepted the drink. She tapped the top a few times, and then popped it open. "Phew! How do you get used to this? We've been running together in the morning for a month now, and it just isn't getting any easier!"

Tatsuki smirked, and leaned her back against the railing. "It gets easier. Wait until I start you on the course with all of the hills. Then you can complain." Her own smirked spread into a smile as her companion fought the urge to blanch. "Where were you just now, anyway? You were.. counting."

"Oh? Just then? I was counting blue cars. My brother and I used to do that sometimes when we'd go for walks." She explained quickly, a slightly embarrassed look crossing her features.

"Hmm." Was her friend's only response, as she popped the top of her own (far tamer) drink, and dropped in a straw. She watched Orihime as she seemed to settle right back into her fog of daydreaming, eyes fixed upon the cars below. It had been two years since Orihime's disappearance and subsequent return. Two years since she had begun to see the black and white monsters and the robed spirits that drove them away. Two years since Kurosaki Ichigo had changed everyone's worlds, though whether for the better or worse...she still couldn't say.

Orihime had never regained all of her former exuberance -- most had chalked it up to age and budding maturity, but Tatsuki seemed to know better. Sure, her warm smiles and amusing eccentricities still shone through, but there was reservation now -- as though some part of her refused to share itself with anyone else. Part of her was distant, unreachable -- when she daydreamed, it was as if brown eyes were staring out at another world entirely.

"Why did you decide to start running with me anyway, Orihime? You've never had any interest in sports as long as I've known you."

"Because. You told me once that when you ran, it was like meditation. You stopped thinking and feeling and just went where your feet lead you." The ginger-haired girl smiled slightly. "I wanted to see if you were right."

* * *

Kuchiki Rukia groaned and dropped silently down from the tree limb she had been perched upon. A cellphone-like device was plucked from a pocket, beeping insistently. 

"Ichigo. Hollow." She kicked, none too gently, the softly snoring body of Kurosaki Ichigo.

"Huh? What the hell, Rukia? Couldn't you take care of it!?" He snapped as he woke with a start. The manga volume that lay still open in his lap was launched at the petite shinigami, who caught it effortlessly and began flipping through the pages. Her nose crinkled disinterestedly, and the book was cast aside. She greatly preferred the romance titles Orihime lent her than the childish action stories Ichigo read, she could barely see a point in them, when their own ordeals had been far more harrowing and eventful than stories of foolish and over ambitious ninja boys or kids who thought card games were life or death situations.

"Stop whining. I got the last one."

"Well of course you did, it's your job!" He seethed as he pulled the emblem from his pocket that would allow his spirit to disconnect from his body. "Gimmie a break,huh? I've only got a few more weeks before I leave for college."

And with that, the black clad spirit of Kurosaki Ichigo pulled itself from his human form, and searched for the direction from which the ghoulish reiatsu was emanating. In a flash, he was gone, leaving Rukia with the manga, and his unconscious shell.

The hollows had not stopped coming after Aizen had been defeated. To assume such a thing would happen would have been foolish. The hollows would continue to exist as long as humans did. As long as pain and suffering and sadness and jealousy endured, so would the vengeful and regretful souls of those that could not let go.

And as long as Karakura town remained the epicenter of so much spiritual energy, beings of all sorts, benign and malignant, would remain the bulls-eye on the target.

Had anyone been watching, it would have been odd to see such a petite young woman pick up and the much larger and possibly passed out figure that she so easily manhandled. With a few easy movements Ichigo's body was propped back up against the tree, roughly in the same position as he had been before. A small hand unconsciously reached out and brushed at the wild orange hair, a gesture she would have never dared had the body's owner been present.

It had been foolish to think that Ichigo would remain here like this forever. That they could share an endless string of mostly uneventful afternoons. High school had ended. Humans had their own ambitions, their entire lives to live and savor in such a short span. It was easy to forget that he was still essentially human and still essentially mortal. Rukia could play at being human, could pretend she understood this world. But it was as foreign to her as the brief suggestions that he, Ichigo, forfeit his life on Earth and take up with the ranks of the Shinigami. To help them rebuild.

It was a suggestion he had rejected. And soon he would be gone.

* * *

Elsewhere, there was darkness. There was cold. A lone figure loped along the periphery of what had been a gleaming white citadel in that barren and monochromatic wasteland. It was his kingdom now, an empire of dirt and desert and silence. The arrancar had all either dispersed or had been disposed of. The other hollows dare not draw near anymore, for fear of the former cuarta Espada. 

Unnatural, their whispers told him. Pity, some had gleefully intoned. For a creature that had been created in the image of a human from that of a monster and seemed to lack all desire to revel in being either. Trash, he had called them. All of them. Unworthy of his enmity or his blade.

His footfall was silent among the ruined halls, green eyes wide and striking against the monochrome rubble. He told himself inwardly that he had no true destination within these walls. And yet, he always ended up there, outside that cell. Her cell.

Ulquiorra had never been demonstrative in life. In death, only as the mindless soul devourer had he lashed out. And in this half-life he had learned to shut out all sensation and focus only upon his objectives and the will of those he had placed his loyalty in. His face became a tempered mask more impenetrable than even the bone remnants of his hollow self. Aizen had been his God. Inoue Orihime had been his devil, a tempting things from him that he had not been aware that he had wanted.

In the end, he had chosen sin. He had chosen free will.

He sighed faintly, the expression cutting the silence like nails on a chalkboard. Deliberately, he reached up and plucked out one of his green orbs. Time may have lost all meaning in Hueco Mundo, but he knew he had waited as long as he could. Ghostly white finger clasped around his eye, and crushed it quickly. The dust rose and swirled around him, enveloping him in a sensory memory that he decided to breathe in slowly. To savor.

The touch of a soft hand against his face. The endless questions and cajoling. Begging him to find some way, any way to come with them. To leave this place.

"Don't stay..." She whispered into his ear, breath hot even in this memory. Her warmth seemed so close now, delivered to his narrow lips, a kiss for the departing. "There is more to you than this. Don't you want more than this, Ulquiorra-san?"

"I cannot. The shinigami would pursue me endlessly. Your nakama…they would not approve. There is no room for me in your world, Inoue. It is illogical to consider otherwise."

Her face had crumpled into hot tears. "They would. I would. You saved me." The bluish tearmarks on his own face seemed to burn. Was this how an arrancar cried? The pain caused his conscious self to twitch.

If this was Hell; if her touch was damnation, he cursed himself silently for not giving in completely, however foolish and impossible such a thing may have been. The idiot girl saw only that part of him which looked human in those moments, and in that memory, he could feel, truly feel...that he was the bigger idiot for wanting to believe what her eyes told him.

And then she was gone.

And now he remained in Purgatory, damned and alone.

**To be Continued.**

A/N: This is my first fanfic. EVER. I was inspired by the UlquiHime pairing and the excellent fics this ship is attracting, and couldn't resist. I'm not _entirely_ sure where this is all going, but hopefully somewhere good (or at least somewhere that doesn't suck.) This chapter was really an attempt to try and capture the personalities of the characters. I'm not entirely certain if I was successful. I feel like I'm in over my head!

Suggestions would be eternally adored. 3

So, uhm..please enjoy! Or don't!

PS -- the Title of the fic is for the Collective Soul song of the same name. It just seemed to fit. The title chapter is a song by the band Dishwalla.

--Dani


	2. La Tristesse Durera

(All the usual disclaimers and stuff: I don't own Bleach or these characters. I'm just borrowing them for a little while.)

**-- Chapter Two --**

La Tristesse Durera

In three days, this will no longer be my home.' Inoue Orihime paced around the nearly empty expanse of the apartment that had been her home for as long as she could remember. The memories seemed to make the humid August air thicker, threatening to close in around her as the haphazardly piled boxes, containing her belongings, were already threatening to do.

'I hope my apartment in Yoyogi has air conditioning.' She thought idly, fanning her face with a cheap festival fan she had purchased on Fireworks night. Laid before her were the only things she hadn't yet packed: a few changes of clothing & the necessary bits of toiletries, Enraku; her patched up teddy bear, the directions for the movers, and her acceptance letter to the Hattori College of Nutrition. While some of her classmates had blanched at the thought of Inoue-san becoming a chef, to her it had simply seemed like a logical step forward. Good cooking made people happy and whole, and she would jump in head long if it meant something she did could bring smiles to someone else's face.

Her own stomach, however, had begun growling. Where were the others?

Tatsuki, Chizuru and the other girls had said they would be picking her up around 5pm, and they'd all make their way out together to meet the boys. One last hurrah with old friends, because they would all be leaving within the next few days. Good bye, halcyon days.

She blinked and stood, smoothing out the thin cotton dress she had slipped into earlier. That such a statement should come to mind now seemed so odd. That night, kneeling in Kurosaki's room -- revealing feelings to his sleeping form that he still had no idea she had blurted out on that fateful night. Feelings that had changed with age, with seeing that mask upon his face and that inhuman glint in his eyes, with seeing the way he gazed longingly at Rukia without realizing it. She was not the one who was supposed to understand his heart.

Her thoughts drifted to other places. A cold pristine cell and another white dress. A pair of inhumanly beautiful green eyes. A kiss, before he pushed her from that desolate plane. 'Hypocrite. To have called Kurosaki-kun a monster and yet...and yet I pine for the real monster.' No.

She shook her head and turned slowly in the mirror, making certain the dress hadn't been crumpled too much during her wait. Fingers fussed at the pink ribbon at the waist.

Surprisingly, it fits you.'

She blinked and looked around. There was no one there but her own reflection. "I am going crazy." She confided seriously to the Orihime in the mirror.

There was a knock at the door. and a muffled (but still swooning) "Hiiiiiimechaaaaaan!" -- followed by a "Shut up, you pervert!"

Orihime giggled softly at the exchange, knowing how much she would miss it. There was no time for focusing on what had never been, and what could never be. It was better to live in the moment. "Coming!" She laughed and rushed to the door, picking up her sandals to slip them on at the threshold.

* * *

"So like there were these three girls there, and they were soooo hot. C'mon, back me up, Mizuiro!" Asano Keigo was already on a roll, his cheeks flushed by whatever alcohol he had been imbibing. Mizuiro for the most part, merely humored him. The girls were enjoying rolling their eyes at him. For what it was worth, they were equally as tipsy, stretched out on blankets along the riverbed. 

"Heeey, where's Kurosaki-san? Kuchiki-san isn't here yet, either! Ditched again! Oh how cruel!" Asano whined, though as the melodramatic words left his mouth, he couldn't help but spare a glance towards Sado (who looked as stone-faced as ever, despite the bottle of Sapporo in his hands) and Ishida (who was, after all this time, pretending to look sour faced and out of place.)

It was Orihime, letting out a well-placed hiccup, that chimed in "Oh! You know how those two are! They're probably arguing!"

* * *

"We've been through this already! I don't want to go, Ichigo!" Rukia was glaring up at her orange-haired companion, arms folded defiantly over her chest. Her dark eyes were narrowed, as if daring him to say otherwise. "There is no reason for me to be there tonight!" 

"This yelling thing whenever you're upset is starting to get old!" Ichigo launched back, sinking down onto his bed, and staring at her eye-to-eye in equally stubborn manner. "I don't understand why you don't want to go! They're you're friends too! Whether _you_ like it or not, they're going to miss you. That's what happens when you go to school with people! You make friends!"

"I DIDN'T WANT ANY FRIENDS!" She launched back, stamping a small foot on the ground. She knew that this was all her own fault. No one had forced her to continue going to school once she had resumed her rounds as resident shinigami of Karakura Town. No one had reprimanded her for the behavior, either. Ukitake-taichou had merely shrugged when pressed about it -- simply intoning that he was pleased that she finally had companions.

Even if they were only human.

They stood, staring at each other silently for a long moment. her gaze finally slid down to the floor. "Don't you understand? It's so hard, watching all of you getting read to move on. How do I answer that I'm not going anywhere? I don't belong here with any of you. I..."

"Shut up." Ichigo stated quietly. Before she could protest or back away, he had caught the smaller shinigami by the wrist, and he pulled her close to him. She didn't resist. They were both shaking slightly, as he pulled her closer still, and brought his lips to hers in a timid, fleeting kiss. He pulled away almost immediately, flushed and embarrassed. Kurosaki Ichigo, substitute shinigami, vaizard, defeater of arrancar...was trembling.

Kuchiki Rukia, who had always had a snide remark for anything thrown her way, had been rendered speechless. Her mouth hung open just slightly, like a fish out of water. Her lips were still tingling, electrified by something she had secretly hoped for...something she never would have admitted to wanting. Dark eyes were half closed, and she crinkled into a faint but telling smile. Her warm, equally trembling hand placed itself onto the side of a face that looked almost astonished that it wasn't being struck for it's impertinence.

"You moron..." she leaned in, looping her other arm loosely around his neck. Instinctively, Ichigo traced the hand that had been holding her wrist down the contour of her body, sending tiny shivers through every nerve ending in her body. He gripped her hip gently, and pulled her closer. Emboldened, but gentle. "...Why did you stop?"

Their lips met again, and for the moment, neither of them had anything to argue about.

* * *

The air by the river was heavy with the sounds of crickets and cicadas by the time the two came ambling down the path, hand-in-hand. The last of summer's fireflies floated past, entwined in their last enamored dances of the season. The sky was heavy with twilight, and the friend's boisterous joking of earlier had quieted down to soft conversations and reminiscence of their years together. It was a bittersweet, perfect, evening. 

"Oooooooooooooooooo! I knew it!" Came the cheering catcalls as the two circled in on the mildly inebriated group. The dark tone of the sky hid their blushing faces and knowing glances as they broke their grip upon one another and settled in.

"It's about damn time, Kurosaki." Ishida muttered, passing the bottle of chilled plum wine towards them. Ichigo grimaced, but proceeded to pour a glass of the potent and overly sweet liquid for Rukia, who accepted quickly, happy for anything to occupy her from having to speak. Sado, noting Ichigo's hesitance to drink the liquid, nudged a beer over towards him.

"We all knew you two would eventually figure it out." Asano butted in, grinning broadly. "You two have fought like an ooooold married couple for years!" The rest of the group started laughing, the sound filling the air for a long while.

"You okay with this, Orihime?" Tatsuki leaned in, and whispered towards her friend, who was beaming towards the two of them. Dark eyes met and the ginger-haired girl nodded emphatically.

"Those two were made for each other!" She added in, without a hint of malice or regret. "We should all be so lucky." She smiled lazily and leaned against her closest friend, her head light and dizzy from the buzz she had gained from the fizzy Chuhai she had finished off. Her eyes peered up towards the stars, and only then she sighed -- but like everything else that had been that evening -- it was a bittersweet noise.

"To Kurosaki and Kuchiki! To all of us! Kumpai!" One of their classmates called out, and raised their glass. There was a scramble to refill cups and open new cans, followed by a much larger cheer. And for a good long while, time seemed to stand still, and all that mattered was laughter and good company.

I wish I could bottle this moment and save it forever...' Orihime thought to herself, before drifting off to sleep, propped up against Tatsuki's arm.

* * *

Many hours later, Orihime lay sound asleep in her bed, laid down by Sado's steady hands, who had carried her patiently back up to her apartment without complaint, and left equally as quietly. She was dreaming peacefully now, hugging her pillow tightly, unaware of the pain her head would undoubtedly be in tomorrow. 

She was also unaware that she had gained a visitor. The ghostly figure had emerged from a narrow rip of dimensional fabric. Cautiously, Uliquiorra stepped forward, emerald eyes fixed upon her slumbering form. 'It is just as well she does not wake up' he thought tersely, as she shifted in her sleep, but didn't wake. 'I do not know what I would say to her.'

He contented himself with watching her. Silent and unmoving as a statue, transfixed with the presence he had denied himself. It was an almost unsettling sight, the pale figure standing among columns of boxes; mask-like face illuminated by the dwindling moonlight.

Never once did he break his composure, though part of him, seldom trusted or listened to, seemed to urge him to just reach forward, just brush back that lock of hair that had crossed her face...her beautiful, peaceful face. He wanted to breathe in her scent; warm and sweet like the summer evening, slightly sour from the alcohol. His mouth twitched into a barely discernable frown. 'Foolish.'

And then he was gone.

But hardly unnoticed.

* * *

"Kisuke." The low feline voice broke the darkness of the Urahara shop. 

"I know." A sigh punctuating the quiet response. "It was only a matter of time."

**To be continued...**

A/N: Yes! the Hattori College of Nutrition is a real culinary institute in Tokyo's Shibuya district, and the school that Iron Chef used to staff their battles with assistants. Don't worry though, Orihime won't be dashing across Kitchen Stadium any time soon. That would be scary. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't get some of her cooking inspiration from the show, though. (Mmm, trout ice cream. DX )

The drinking age in Japan is 20, but from what I've read -- it isn't widely enforced. Also -- Chuhai is sort of like wine coolers & Mikes Hard Lemonade; Silly fruity frou frou drinks.

Today's chapter title is a song by the Manic Street Preachers. :D

PS -- Fillercars and badly animated Uliquorra makes me sad. :(


	3. Kind of Hope

( Disclaimer time! Nope, I still don't own any of these characters. :( )

**--- Chapter Three ---**

Kind of Hope

Orihime had been settled into her new home for a week now. The first few nights had been unbearably lonely, an unfamiliar set of blank white walls to keep her company. She was used to living alone, but the silence of the new apartment had been as stifling as another, far off prison had been. Acquired paranoia, it seemed, refused to be assuaged easily.

She had considered calling her shun shun rika on her to alleviate her anxiety that first night, but decided against unleashing her reiatsu in such unfamiliar surroundings -- there was no telling _what_ such a display might attract. (Nor was she particularly in the mood for a sound scolding by dour Tsubaki.)

Days later, the small (much smaller than her old apartment, to be blunt) dwelling was beginning to look homier. The boxes, empty, had begun to pile outside of her door to be carried away on garbage day, while the inside had been filled with her belongings. The walls were lined with photographs of her nakama and other pictures, and she had hung a set of soft chimes by the window. It would do.

Others had begun to fill the neighboring apartments as well. The older landlady had happily explained that most of her tenants were only quarterly college students and not full-time residents as she had planned on becoming. 'Of course, she told herself. They all have families to go home to when the semester is finished.'

She tried not to let this thought get her too down.

* * *

"Eeeehhh..everything is so expensive!" Orihime fretted, as she handed over the required yen for the stack of textbooks and the apprentice chef's uniform she would be required to wear for her practical courses. The clerk smiled sympathetically and handed over the heavy bags. She had been given a generous scholarship from the school for her academic marks, as well as the continued promise from her relatives to help her with her room and board, but part of her was truly worried over how, exactly, she was going to makes ends meet. Money didn't go as far now as it had in Karakura Town.

Shibuya was one of the most fashionable (and expensive) districts in Tokyo. She felt decidedly dowdy compared to some of the girls that she saw around town and campus, her clothing recycled and retouched by way of her embroidery and sewing skills. Orihime had never been an especially vain person, though.

But even she couldn't help but sigh longingly at some of the outfits that lined the display windows as she lugged her heavy packages back towards her apartment. It was the sort of sigh that was broken only by the smell of cappuccino and sweets nearby.

Footfall brought her to the step of a small patisserie in the European style, the front display lined with all manner of unusual treats. Her brow knitted momentarily at the prices on the sandwich board in front of the door, but she decided that what she really needed, at that moment, was a bit of retail therapy by way of chocolate and caffeine.

A small while later, she sat at one of the dainty tables, with a small dish of basil and pistachio gelato, and a number of button-shaped meringues with pieces of candied fruits stuck in the middle. She closed her eyes happily as she relished the mixture of the unusual flavors, though as she opened them, the ginger-haired young woman realized she was being observed intently by the none-to-unpleasant looking gentleman behind the counter who had gotten her treats.

She smiled sheepishly. "It's..it's all excellent, sir!"

He smiled in return, and walked out from behind the counter. It was midafternoon and still quiet, he could leave the till unattended for a few moments. "I...I am glad you are enjoying it all." His Japanese was tentative but fluent, accented by a language she couldn't place. "I was beginning to wonder if the flavors I choose...they were too unusual."

"No, no! They're brilliant! I never would have thought to mix these, but the effect is really wonderful!" She nodded in bright affirmation. The man's warm face slid over to the bags propped up in the chair next to her. His smile grew a bit wider.

"You..you are a student at the...Culinary school?" He questioned mildly.

"Mmhmm, I mean, I start classes tomorrow! I want to study pastry and baking." She blushed slightly, her mind drifting back to an affirmation she had once made. So, it was only one lifetime instead of five, but she was well on her way to seeing at least one of her dreams through.

"Would you..ah..be interested in a job? I need someone to.. mind the counter and wait tables while I work..And as you can see, my Japanese is..not so good, always." He tilted his head to the side questioningly. "It would not be in the kitchen right away...but perhaps...as you learn, and have a knack for this."

"Are...are you serious? I don't know...I'm a little clumsy and...well..."She smiled sheepishly, a look of happy disbelief washed over her features. "...Okay! I would be honored...ah..." She rose quickly, and bowed to the gentleman.

He seemed a little taken aback by her boisterous behavior, but merely smiled. "Salvatore.. Salvatore Thomasello." He bowed back, a bit awkwardly, before outstretching one of his hands towards her. She blinked, and gripped his hand gently in the western custom, shaking it lightly.

"Inoue Orihime, Thomasello-san! I promise not to disappoint you!" She beamed as she released his hand.

"And can you be here tomorrow after your classes are finished?" His question received an emphatic nod in response. "Then I leave you to your gelato, Miss Inoue. And look forward to working with you."

The next spoonful of the cold creamy dessert was even sweeter than the first, she decided.

* * *

'She is gone.' Monochromatic figure walked the perimeter of the empty apartment, as if trying to sense what, if anything, was left of the former occupant. The former espada mentally chided himself for even allowing such an obvious statement to cross his mind. 'This woman is not, and has never been, good for my judgment.' He concluded.

It was true, though. He no longer sensed the reiatsu of Orihime or her precious nakama. It was if they had all dispersed to points unknown. It made the space seem strangely vulnerable -- and he couldn't help but wonder how many of his "kin" (though he loathed to call them that) would be itching to take advantage of the vacated hunting grounds.

Such paltry leavings had never really interested him.

And yet, it still wasn't safe to linger. But now what? A tinge of regret spread throughout him. Unbidden and unwanted. If she was gone...then what? Las Noches no longer had the capabilities to track the movements of mortals -- the shinigami had dismantled all of Aizen's toys and handed them over to the greasy hands of the 12th division's taichou. He was truly and wholly alone, something he had never even thought to consider while he knew she was at least nearby. That if he had desired, he could have seen her face.

That time had passed.

"In the real estate market, arrancar?" The low feline voice drawled, bringing the emerald-eyed face to fix upon the ebony woman-creature. The cat, Yoruichi, smirked (as best a cat could) and studied him grudgingly. "What business do you have here? Go back to Hueco Mundo where you belong."

'Belong?' The word was bitter as lemons in his mind. Where did a being such as him belong? He was a soldier created for a war that was now over; a monster that had been given enough human will and form to have it bent for the purposes of a vanquished madman. There was nowhere he belonged, and the realization prickled and lurched deep within him, like a slumbering and nasty little beastie. Aizen-sama -- no, just Aizen, had promised him a place to belong. A way to control that fear that had hollowed out his soul from the very beginning.

What promise had she given him? None. Except a smile. He had damned and disarmed himself for a smile. Part of him decided that he wanted to hate her for controlling him in such a way. It was unthinkable that such an insignificant girl had been able to pull every one of his strings as successfully as the man, the god, that had created him in this image. He could have chosen salvation and an honorable death at the side of his master.

He was weak. Trash. He deserved this discarded existence as his penance.

"My presence is none of your concern, cat." His voice was thin and quiet from disuse. Who was there to talk to in an empty citadel, beside one's own shadow? "Where is the wo- Inoue? Why is Inoue no longer here? I demand you tell me." His tone even, cold, and inflectionless even now. He fought to keep his presence free of emotion.

The feline woman sat, and regarded the arrancar levelly. She sensed no real malice from him...Only a growing wave of... Was that fear? Despair? Two things that could prove equally as dangerous as anger with a creature such as him. "She has moved on."

Wide emerald eyes seemed to narrow ever-so-slightly. "...She has...passed? Why did I not feel her spirit move on? How could you have let her die? How could her nakama? What is this foolishness?"

Yoruichi simply stared at him for a long moment, before breaking out into a fit of laughter. Her tail lashed back and forth with barely restrained amusement. "Haha..ho..haha...! No. She isn't dead. She has simply gone on to college."

Ulquiorra failed to see anything amusing in this statement. 'College' could very well be some sort of torture camp, for all he remembered about the workings of the human world. One of his hands had unconsciously formed a tight fist, while the other reached out to seek passage back to Hueco Mundo. This place suddenly seemed too restrictive for him. "I...see."

The object, the source of his damnation was gone. And he was turning out to be a bigger fool than he had previously thought possible of himself.

**To be continued...**

A/N:

Thank you soooo much for the reviews you guys. It means a lot that you're enjoying this, because I'm having a lot of fun writing it! I hope not to disappoint:)

For you nonbelievers, Basil gelato is actually really delicious, even when paired with pistachio. I fell in love with the stuff down at Bruno Bakery & patisserie down on Bleecker Street in Manhattan. They usually serve little meringues with the gelato, too!

And yes, I realize the job was a bit...convenient. But would you really deny Orihime sweets and spending money? Would you? DX

Ulqui/Hime interaction soon, I promise! And more Ichi/Ruki with extra snarkiness & crunch! I just really don't want to rush things.

PS -- today's title chapter is a song by Pilot Speed.

PPS -- Updates won't always be this frequent. I've just been on a writing jag!


	4. El Manana

( Disclaimer -- Nope! Still not mine! )

**--Chapter Four --**  
El Manana

To those lacking reiatsu and the proper spiritual fine-tuning, the Urahara shop was little more than a broken down relic. A decrepit eyesore that some in Karakura Town had petioned to see torn down for the beautification of the neighborhood -- but none had been seen to fruition. In fact, all record of said petitions usually ended up dissapearing from the public archives, never to be examined or debated.

More disturbing were the strange things and stranger people seemed to flock to the place, but most people with any sort of sense simply ignored it and went about their day. Indeed, plenty of people in the town seemed not to notice it at all. This suited Urahara Kisuke just fine, because with the frequency of accidents, explosions, and odd occurrences that manifested around (and were often created under) his home -- there was no telling what painful, or at least uncomfortable, fate would befall an overly curious bystander.

It was a crisp fall afternoon, closing in on October. The leaves were beginning to turn golden and orange, and the sky was made of deep and endless blue one only saw that time of year, when the summer's humidity finally relinquished it's deathgrip on the atmosphere.It was the sort of afternoon one could sit on the porch of the shop and lose themselves in..._if _they had a death wish.

A soccer ball came hurtling out of nowhere, accompanied by manic laughter as the sound of sports equipment connecting with flesh could be heard. Several moments later, an indignant and angry "Owwww!" could be heard, and the sound of fist meeting skull. "Jinta, You jerk! You're supposed to be serving the ball to me! Not hitting me with it!"

A young teenager with hair so red that it would likely put a fire engine to shame grinned towards the object of his assault. He laughed, pulling down his eyelid with one finger and sticking out his tongue. The other gingerly rubbed the place he'd undoubtedly feel a bruised knot later. It was a supremely childish gesture, but the dead glares he recieved in kind only made him laugh even louder.

"Anyone ever tell you that you hit like a _girl_, Kurosaki?" He laughed, watching his tomboyish companion's anger flare even more. Only this time she was raising the soccer ball, and getting ready to throw it at him at pointblank range. The two had spent more afternoons together like this in the past two years than they had apart. The shop had become something like a second home to Karin -- though it had become apparent that she had ulterior motives. Urahara, her father, Ichigo and even Rukia continually refused to train her as Ichigo had been "until she was older," but it hadn't stopped her from hanging around the shop and disturbing his two young employees from their chores.

The Kurosakis were nothing, if not incredibly stubborn.

Yuzu had soon followed suit as well (not wanting to be left out;) she an Ururu enjoyed giggling and gossiping over the teen and idol magazines they smuggled between each other and shared.

"Oh dear.." Yuzu whispered towards her ever-meloncholy companion. "They're at it again. I hope they don't break another of the windows!"

"I am a girl! What the hell is your excuse! I'll show YOU who hits like a girl!" Karin snapped back and unleashed the ball at him, which was again deflected, only this time it went sailing towards the street and far above her head...only to be caught by a very pale hand that seemed to be emerging from a portal of some sort. All of them (even Yuzu whose spiritual senses were minimal) stared towards the widening rift.

"Hollow, arrancar class detected." Ururu's voice announced, taking on a strange, mechanical quality. In half a blink of an eye, the small preteen had launched herself upon the approaching figure, all sense of time and place forgotten. The girl was running on pure programmed instinct now, and just as she reached out to lash at the intruder--

She was grabbed by the shoulder, and pulled back. "That's enough, Ururu. Thank you. Why don't you take the others and go inside for a while. I'm sure Yoruichi can be persuaded to change the channel from the soap operas. It's a re-run anyway." The girl looked up at the man that had stopped her, and nodded soberly. Still very much in a daze, she motioned for Karin, Yuzu and Jinta to follow her. Defiant only for a moment, the others conceded quickly when Urahara shot them an unusually sharp glance. They retreated grudgingly, and took up peeking places by the windows.

"I thought Yoruichi told you to stay in Hueco Mundo." Urahara Kisuke held out his hand, to accept the object the monochromatic figure was still holding. Shadowed eyes met depthless emerald ones; the two natural enemies sizing one another up, unsure of whether or not to stay still and civil, or to draw swords. After much internal deliberation, but without allowing itself to relax, the pale hand reached forward and deposited the soccer ball into the waiting one.

The only thing the arrancar did do, was glance at the fine film of dirt now soiling his hand. Disgusting.

"I did not come here for a fight, shinigami. The time for such things has passed." Ulquiorra stated impassively, watching as the man opposite him shrugged, and tossed the soccer ball lazily over his shoulder. This much was very true, as far as Ulquirorra was concerned -- and while the former cuarta espada was certain that he could defeat the exiled shinigami with minimal effort; such an action would be pointless and counterproductive to his current objective.

"So it has, arrancar." Urahara removed his hat for a moment, and brushed his fingers through his hair. The former shinigami had wondered if and when this moment would come, and had decided, now that it had, he was even less thrilled about what he knew was likely to come next. Old hatreds were less easily set aside than soccer balls, and while the man -- no, _creature_, before him had proven useful to the salvation of countless lives; he would never see him as anything other than the flawed and unclean product of an experiment he should have never let come to fruition.

Perhaps Urahara simply didn't like being stared in the face by one of his own, even if indirect, mistakes.

"I require your help, shinigami. I take no pleasure in stating this, but it is simply a matter of fact and circumstance." Ulquiorra's expressionless face twitched as the words left his mouth -- the calm of his surface touched by the ripples of emotion he did not like agknowleding. 'Woman...I hope that you are happy.'

"I'm sure you do." Urahara sighed heavily, and turned his back to the unnaturally composed figure before him. He had already crossed half of the distance back to the shop before adding "And if I tell you to get the hell off of my property?"

"Then I am damned." Came the monotone response.

"Hah..! You're already damned, arrancar. You'd just be screwed, too." The blonde-haired man laughed bitterly. "C'mon inside, before half the Seireitei shows up demanding your head on a silver platter." He chose not to add that they'd likely want his, too, for conspiring with such a former enemy.

* * *

_(Two and a half years earlier.)_

"Urahara-san, please do this for me." Orihime grabbed the (much) older man's hand, and stared up at him expectantly. Her face was flushed and her tone was breathless, she had undoubtedly dashed all the way here from her apartment halfway across town. It was the middle of the night. "I had another dream about him. Please, he's probably so lonely in that awful place." Her eyes had squeezed shut, the beginning of tears forming in their corners.

The older man shook his head, and clasped a hand around her shoulder, to lead her into the shop. It looked like rain. "You don't really care about him, Orihime-chan. You have manifested what is known as Stockholm syndrome. Many people who are kidnapped and then subsequently abused by their captors develop feelings of personal attachment towards them. In making the captive feel helpless and dependent, they re enforce their hold upon them."

"It...it wasn't like that. He never lifted a hand against me, would never lift a hand against me. I wanted to hate him, I did hate him for his words, for taking me away from my nakama. But he was only acting under Aizen's orders. They all were. I know that you want to believe that all of the arrancar are evil...but there is more to them. They aren't all bad, some of them aren't truly bad at all; they've simply never seen any other option laid before them. " She paused, her eyes trained down at her sandaled feet. She felt Urahara's gaze upon her, as focused as when he had discarded her from the battlefield.

"In the end, he made the decision to fight beside us, to aid me in getting the wounded out of Hueco Mundo. Nell wasn't bad, and neither was stupid Grimmjow in the end. When given the option...they and others, chose what they knew to be correct in their hearts. Like I am doing now."

They had gained an audience, in the form of Yoruichi. She stood leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, having eschewed her preferred feline form since the end of the battle. "She has a point, Kisuke. It's not a point I want to see made...but that arrancar helped us. There's plenty in the 4th Division, I'm told, that would be more than happy to have Orihime and him working alongside them permanently."

"That doesn't make him any less of a monster." The blonde-haired man shot back, unusually riled. It seemed he didn't much enjoy being ganged up on by the two women, at least not in a circumstance such as this. "You're not even sure if he will come here. You asked him once already, and he declined. He, unlike you, has enough sense to realize that he does not belong here!"

It was Yoruichi that finally laughed, the sound oddly comforting to the upset girl. The tension seemed to break a little as the dark-skinned woman drew close to the disheveled shopkeeper. "And we do? You forget that this is not our world either, Kisuke. This world was never our home, or Isshin's home. We have never been living humans, and we're doing just fine."

"...Women." He muttered, raising his fingers to the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stifle the headache he felt forming. She had a point. She always had a point. The woman before him had never been human; like most of the noble families, her bloodlines traced through generations and generations of spirits. As did his own, and countless others in the Soul Society. He wanted to argue that unlike Isshin, it certainly wasn't his choice to be here (and unlike them, the arrancar was the product of the amalgamation of many unhappy lives) but such an argument would prove futile. To look down into those yellow eyes now would be to concede to her.

"Fine, fine...I'll create the gigai." he said after several long moments. "I'm not sure if it will---" But he was cut off, but a fierce and unrestrained hug from the small ginger-haired girl, and a full-on kiss from the woman that knew better than anyone how to get under his skin.

"Thank you, Urahara-san."

* * *

Ulquiorra stared at the replica of himself that lay motionless before him. Subtle changes had been made to the design for exceedingly obvious reasons. 'I suppose it would be hard to explain away my...differences to these humans.' The arrancar thought to himself, his hand moving the head back and forth a few times, as to study the face closer. The barest glimmer of a smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth -- perhaps the only thing separating him from the lifeless shell before him.

His tear marks had been eschewed from the gigai's design and the skin tone was a little different; still exceedingly white, but more like that of one of the paler gaijins than of an animated corpse or a ghost. The helmet-like expanse of bone that crowned much of his head and neck had also been left out; instead there was only soft and slightly ruffled black hair. The stoic arrancar was unnerved by how peaceful this thing looked.

Urahara had decided to let him be to make his final decision, something the arrancar had not minded. He distrusted the former shinigami deeply, as his own eyes had been privy to much of what Aizen had uncovered in his research. Not all of it had put Urahara Kisuke in such a heroic light.

That, in and of itself, had not troubled Uliquorra. He had little need for heroics and lofty morals; such things only caused headaches and predicaments like the one he was currently in. He had simply observed those of the scientific bent long enough, especially when said sciences lack many of the failsafes and limitations that human scientists invaribly encountered, were bound to regard ethics more as quaint platitudes than guiding forces.

What truly unnerved the usually unshakable arrancar about his current host was his ability to smile and play calm while he readied the scapel. There was something too calculated in those careless mannerisms; it reminded him far too much of a certain falsely paternal madman. It garnered trust while sending his comrades headlong into battle and certain death. There was regret and reproach and concscience later; Urahara wasn't completely unredeemable and amoral. Perhaps that was what bothered Uliquorra the most; he was not used to studying anyone that was able to stab the knife into your back, say it was for your own good...and then apologize for it later. And mean it.

It simply was not a logical course of action. Or perhaps he simply preferred madmen that wore their motives on their sleeves to those that saw everyone around them as a pawn. Even now, he was certain the man was still watching from somewhere, but he did not allow it to stop his inspection.

Once he was satisfied with his inspection of the face, he pulled back more of the sheet that had been keeping the dust away 'How long ago had this thing been made? And why? Was the bastard expecting this?' and only then did he gasp, the unaccustomed sound choking in the base of his throat. He pulled his hand back, to clutch instinctively over the place that where his hollow hole was. The gigai lacked this as well -- the space between the figure's collarbones was whole. Complete. His tear marks burned as they had the night he had allowed himself the company of Orihime's memory, though now he didn't understand why at all. His other hand gingerly reached out and touched the space, half expecting it to be an illusion. It wasn't.

'Why does this affect me?'

He composed himself again rather quickly, only then noting that the form's designer _had_ left the number four left tattooed on his narrow chest, directly over where his heart would be. A small, bitter sound left his mouth, as he realized said designer was now watching him from the doorway to the room.

"You didn't think I would let you try and completely forget what you are, arrancar? Perhaps it will remind you to...bear caution in whatever pursuits you decide to make." The blonde-haired man murmured, and stepped forward. He deftly re-covered the gigai, and began laughing rather dryly "I took as much information as I possessed to create this, I think you'll find it to be as close a fascimile as could be created. I admit to not knowing or being particularly _interested_ all of your...hrmm..._dimensions. _But I do not think you will be disappointed in..._certain areas_."

Ulquiorra stared at him blankly for several moments, obviously not understanding what the former shinigami was going on about. When the realization did finally dawn upon him, wide eyes actually blinked and the pale arrancar coughed -- declaring the subject closed to further discussion. 'Loathsome..of all of the things I should be worried about. Why should I be preoccupied over _that_...'

"You'll thank me later." Urahara was laughing more heartily now, obviously enjoying the discomfort he had caused. The former cuarta simply resumed his baleful stare until the man finally calmed himself enough to regain composure. "Otherwise...what do you think?"

"I think that this is ludicrous." The paler man murmured, his eyes trailing back to the covered figure on the surgical table. "But if this is what I must do..._for her sake_... I will oblige."

"I was hoping you'd say that. But, there's just one other thing I should warn you, before we proceed."

Ulquiorra stared.

"This is going to hurt. A lot."

**To Be Continued...**

A/N -- Wee, Oh my! Thank you for all of the reviews and support, guys! It's really encouraging. I will keep your suggestions in mind as I proceed, though do I promise that there will be overlap between the two pairs.

My biggest inspiration for the story has been what one of the reviewers commented on -- my desire to really play around with what life for these characters would be once things once the adventure was over and they had to resume their actual lives, knowing that they'd all been changed to some degree. Whether that was as big as Ulquiorra's sense of utter displacement or as small as Karin wanting to follow in the footsteps of her big brother. I dunno, it all fascinates me.

And that isn't to say there won't be any sort of external conflict. It wouldn't be Bleach if there wasn't at least a few macho moments filled with zanpakuto waving, posturing, and that horrible horrible song they play whenever there is a fight scene in the anime.

The next couple of chapters will be more focused on IchiRuki -- I can't help it! They've always been my favorite ship in the fandom. And you'll see some Ishida (I can't help it, I _like_ the whiny self-righteous nerd. He reminds me of my D&D dork friends.) in the next chapter, too.

I hope you all keep enjoying!

--Dani

PS -- Today's chapter title is a song by the Gorillaz.


	5. Across the Universe

Disclaimer -- These characters do not belong to me! Seriously!

**---Chapter Five---  
**Across the Universe

Aizen Sosuke had not fallen by the hands of shinigami, quincy, vizard or human.

Kurosaki Ichigo's blade pierced the madman's heart; but in the end, it was the hollows and arrancar, his own obsessively devoted troops, that delivered the killing blows. Menos and hollows of all rank and file had swirled around the fight like vultures, and in the opportune moment, on the mark of the ebony zanpakuto connecting with what passed for Aizen's heart, had swept in. They devoured the corrupted mass of their God's soul in jagged pieces and rended his body limb from limb, waving the shredded pieces of his body like obscene trophies. The monsters laughed as they did this, and none -- not even Ichimaru or Tousen, tried to stop it.

Some swore that it had been a fitting ending for the traitor.

Most, or at least those with some sort of sense, had the decency to be horrified.

* * *

There are eighty districts in Rukongai. The 80th, Zaraki, is said to be more hell than heaven -- a twisted mass of monsters and souls more demon than human. There are some that say that in there, in that pit less dark and desperation, the line between hollow and human begins to blur, and the barrier between Soul Society and Hueco Mundo is thin.

No one really knows, because there are few that ever escape it.

Zaraki Kenpachi would probably laugh in the face (if not punch a hole in said face) of anyone that asked him about Zaraki, and from that violence filled abyss he had torn himself out of. Whatever the captain of the 11th had seen in that place, he wasn't sharing. And there was rarely a soul that dared to ask. Most, Yumichka especially, liked their faces intact.

Perhaps that's why, when the far-reaching patrols of the seventh division came back reporting that had heard laughter and singing come from the general direction of Zaraki when the wind blew a certain way, they had all been promptly sent to Unohana-taichou with a diagnosis of extreme exhaustion.

* * *

_"Kurosaki Ichigo. Substitute shinigami...or is it vizard? I've sad it once and I believe it bears repeating. You will one day reach the limits of your power. You will hunger for more. Join me, Kurosaki-chan. Those limits will mean nothing...nothing at all."_

Ichigo woke, drenched in cold sweat. It was an older nightmare, one that recurred more frequently than he was comfortable with. It had haunted him from the moment he had plunged Zangetsu deep into the heart of a monster that smiled with deceptive warmth as he tried to destroy everything he held dear. He shuddered internally and groaned, head still hurting a bit from...well, wherever his classmates had taken him out to the previous night. He didn't dare look at the clock, but the room was still dim. It was either very early, or the blinds on the window had shuttered out most of the sun.

"Kur.OH.SAK.EEEE." It was the former. The familiar voice grated through his every nerve, made worse by the insistent fist slamming on the door. Why, of all of the universities in Tokyo, had he ended up in the same pre-med program as Ishida Uryuu?

"God..Alright, alright. Keep your damned pants on Ishida. It's..." He finally dared a look at his alarm. It was 7am. he was going to wring that Quincy's pencil neck." WHY THE HELL ARE YOU HERE SO EARLY ON A SATURDAY?" Cursing and muttering, the orange-haired shinigami shuffled out of his bed, and proceeded to let his friend (he used the term loosely at the moment) into his dorm room.

"Ahem." Ishida scoffed, adjusting his glasses for extra emphasis of the indignity he was suffering. "You were the one that wanted to begin studying for our exams early this morning so we could meet Inoue-chan this afternoon."

Ichigo stared. They had promised to meet her, hadn't they? Inoue was still close by, the culinary school she was attending was in the same general neighborhood as theirs, but time just never seemed to be on anyone's side these days. They had been in school for almost two months now, and that night on the riverbank seemed so far away.

_She_ seemed so far away. A memory, unbidden, as she had disappeared back through the gates that would return her to the Soul Society, swearing she didn't want to watch him leave her. Instead, they'd kissed, and he'd watched her turn his back on him. With a smile and a promise that things would work out.

"And you smell like you bathed in cigarettes and cheap beer." Ishida crinkled his nose rather distastefully and stepped inside, past the surly looking shinigami representative, a large stack of textbooks in hand. "You don't look much better, either."

* * *

"You are going to have to make a hard decision, Kuchiki Rukia. Shinigami simply are not meant to spend large portions of time in the world of the living. It is our solemn oath to help the newly departed, and to vanquish the souls that have strayed from their proper path. It is never wise to become overly familiar with the living. It leads to attachments that never end in anything but tragedy." Commander General Yamamoto stated firmly towards the small young woman that bowed before him.

It was not an unusual request, a transfer. Plenty of shinigami, especially those that were assigned to specific neighborhoods, eventually grew bored of their surroundings. They wished to be challenged, they wished for a change of scenery perhaps. With Kuchiki Rukia however, one simply did not throw caution to the wind and sign the standard paperwork that rarely went above that of one's Lieutenant. Too much trouble, and too many incidents surrounded this one, though. It was not a decision to make lightly.

"I understand, Yamamoto-suitaichou." Rukia didn't dare glance up, partially from the sheer weight of the man's reiatsu pressing down upon her. He was using it to cow her, she was certain, and make her remember her place in the grand scheme of things. Defeated in one simple statement that held more truth than her stubborn mind had argued against her. "I am sorry to cause such an imposition."

Ukitake held his tongue, as he watched the dark-haired girl. He was, perhaps, most responsible for letting her stay in Karakura for such long stretches without demanding she return; as she was directly under his command. He had been happier to see those large eyes wide and vibrant when they did grace the 13th's compound, than filled with the ghosts of deep regret.

It was undeniable that she, or anyone, that had spent prolonged time among the ryoka or in the living world had changed since their return. The time spent in the gigais had adjusted their internal clocks away from the slow progression of time the Soul Society regulated itself upon, where days and weeks held little meaning, and years tended not to count for much unless piled up high upon one another.

She had aged alarmingly fast in her time away. That equivalent human time had melted away what semblance of youth that had surrounded her, instead her features spoke more of a woman on the very cusp of adulthood. The same could be said for the others; Hitsugaya-taichou's already moody demeanor, already the subject of many quietly told jokes, had only become more of an amused target now that he looked to be emerging from childhood and into the awkward throes of adolescence.

Matsumoto swore up and down that there were more slammed doors than ever in the 10th squad, but also conceded that her white-haired superior would be quite the lady-killer...when he grew up enough to stop scowling at everyone enough to give Kurosaki a run for his money.

"I...I will excuse myself then and resume my patrols, sir. I apologize for the--"

"Just a moment, Kuchiki-san. I have not finished. " Wizened old eyes widened enough to study the kneeling form more closely. He sighed, bringing a gnarled and scared hand to grip at his beard in thought.

"I approve your transfer to district 867-A; Shibuya prefecture. There have been reports of strange reiatsu in the area from the shinigami currently stationed there. I have consulted with most of the captains, and we are certain it's merely the presence of that... _human girl_..." He paused, his tone taking on a strange implacable quality. Distrust? Concern? _Regret_? He had been the one that had forbidden the rescue of Inoue Orihime from Hueco Mundo, after all. And yet she had still tried to save them all. She'd make a fine shinigami...one day, perhaps. "...but one can never be too careful."

Rukia looked up, her face full of incredulity. "I --ah...Thank you, Yamatoto-suitaicho! Thank you! I will not disappoint --"

The old man waved his hand rather dismissively. He had seen young love many times in his life, and knew well enough that Kuchiki Rukia was smitten beyond all hope. It wouldn't end well. It never did, not even when the human involved was the son of one of his former captains. The tragedy that had befallen Kurosaki Isshin's small family had only reaffirmed this truth again. But perhaps she would learn that on her own.

Or perhaps she wouldn't.

She had already bowed respectfully and had fled for the door.

"Ah...young love." Ukitake sighed softly, and smiled serenely towards his former mentor.

* * *

"Sooo! You'll never believe it! We were cooking frog legs in my line-cooking class, and I accidentally tipped my jar of grape jam into the pan! I thought the instructor was going to be very upset with me, but instead he thought it was pretty innovative and everyone in the class really liked it!"

Uryuu and Ichigo were staring unabashedly at her. Staring, and if one were observant at all, trying their hardest not alternately wretch or start laughing. Orihime seemed quite proud of her accomplishment, and they weren't about to go raining on their friend's parade. If she wanted to eat the parts of things they dissected in other classes, and with grape jelly no less, they weren't going to stop her. They just weren't going to encourage her to share, either.

They had just finished lunch at one of the endless trendy little cafes that were crammed along the busy streets, and had decided to go for a stroll before going their separate ways again. Orihime had been overjoyed to see them (as stressed with work as they looked,) it was hard not to have them near anymore. She was having no real trouble making friends; when one was as cheerful and open as she was, it was rather hard not to. people had always been drawn to her warm personality.

It was more a matter of being able to relate to her new friends. It was hard to look back on the world with eyes that had seen how much more there was just underneath the surface of everyday life, and how awful things could turn. More than once, she had gone to bed envying, just a little, that they lived in a world without hollows and shinigami and malicious spirits. (Or rather, they thought they did) where the people they loved weren't monsters, and their closest friends didn't have a foot deeply entrenched in the spirit world.

Ignorance was bliss, perhaps. But Orihime wouldn't have traded her nakama for all the normalcy in the world --would she? Well, perhaps she would have traded away some of the heartache. Only if it didn't mean someone else would have to bear it in her stead.

"And that reminds me! I made cookies in another one of my classes! They're made of pine nuts and have some almond paste in them and they're not very exciting but I thought I'd share! My boss at work is beginning to show me how he makes the sorts of things he cooks in his patisserie...and.." Before either could really object, The ginger-haired girl had reached into her bag and produced two cookies, delicately wrapped in parchment.

"Thanks, Inoue...you know though, I'm still really full from lunch and..." Ichigo mumbled apologetically. He hadn't been especially talkative all day, and the thought of ingesting something too bizarre (while his hangover from the previous night was still in a hazy twilight) wasn't sitting well with him at all. Uryuu, not wanting to hurt her feelings, had unwrapped the cookie and taken a small, exploratory bite.

"You know..this is rather good." Ishida blinked, and took another bite, this time with a bit more gusto.

Orihime hadn't heard him.

"Kurosaki-kun...you still haven't heard from her, have you?" She inquired lightly, concern washing over her features. It had only been two months -- he was lucky it had only been two months. Kuchiki-chan had told him that she was going to be back, and the tiny selfish part in that otherwise selfless mind of hers wanted to lash out. Orihime had been given no such promise, she'd only been given an excuse.

She didn't dare tell either of them such a thing, though -- neither had any clue of what had transpired between her and a certain green-eyed arrancar. Or, what she _thought_ had transpired. There had been nothing more than a kiss, almost on a lark, for the departing. There had been no flowery declarations (the very thought of the stoic Ulquiorra reciting sonnets was almost enough to send her into a fit of giggles. Which would be bad. She was trying to be serious and supportive.) or even the slightest endearments. She knew that the arrancar weren't completely evil; that much had been proven. His ability to love anything other than violence had not.

'I shouldn't doubt him.' The ginger-haired girl sighed a little, and rested her hand on Ichigo's arm. He was staring at the manga titles that had been piled up in a used bookstore's window -- probably just for something else to look at besides his friends. "She wouldn't break her promise to you, Kurosaki-kun. She loves you as much as you love her."

Ichigo scowled, or tried to. "I don't..."

"Yes, you do. You fell in love with her the moment she crashed into your apartment for the first time." She laughed, and turned to peer into the window as well, her eyes slipping passed all of the back issues of titles she had lost interest in, and rarely had time these days to sit and enjoy.

"Yeah well..Why aren't you bugging Ishida about his girl troubles? And what about you, Inoue? " He grumbled.

"Leave me out of this, Kurosaki!" But the Quincy had turned as red as a sugar beet.

Orihime laughed softly at Uryuu, and shrugged. "You know how it is..You think you love someone, and then you don't, because they love someone else, and maybe you didn't really love them. Then you think _you_ love someone else...but maybe they can't love anyone at all."

They both stared. Again.

"Or..you know! Something like that! I read it in a manga once, it was such a sad story!" She giggled suddenly, trying to deflect the twin stares that spoke volumes about how they would never understand women at all.

'...Something like that is right.' She thought inwardly, and turned to resume walking along the sidewalk. At that moment, it was all she could do to not break out into a run. Running with Tatsuki hadn't taught her to escape her troubles and outrun sad thoughts after all, but it had taught her to leave them panting on the bench for a while.

Yes. Perhaps ignorance was bliss.

* * *

A/N -- Wah! Sorry this took so long! I rewrote this chapter like, three times before I got it to where it is now, and I'm still not entirely happy with it. It's definitely meant as a transitory chapter between the introduction and the start of things coalescing together in a big story-shaped stew.

I hope you guys are enjoying, though! And as always, feedback is adored.

Next chapter -- Science experiments! Adventures in mass transit! Kissy faces! Epic arguments!

-- Dani

PS -- the chapter title is a song by the Beatles


	6. The Hand That Feeds

(Disclaimer: In case you missed it, these characters belong to Tite Kubo. And not me. :( )

**---Chapter 6---**  
The Hand that Feeds

Urahara Kisuke had not been lying.

The initial entrance into the gigai had been little more than a well-placed sonido into the waiting vessel. There was a crackle of sound and pressure as soul bonded with flesh, and it felt uncomfortable. The fleshy body was constricting and hopelessly weak compared to the existence he was accustomed to, but nothing at all akin to painful. The former espada had been ready to tell the smirking shopkeeper as much as he sat up on the cold table, flexing and moving his arms experimentally. They were weak, but his power had always mostly been that of the mind over the physical.

He inwardly marveled at the warmth this new form produced, strangely soothing as it encompassed and absorbed the icy chill that had permeated his entire existence for as long as his memory permitted him. He could feel the heart beating in his chest, his spirit eager to attune itself to it's steady rhythm. The former espada would have been terrified; if he hadn't been so fascinated.

Even the simple act of drawing air into his lungs was novel -- his senses, while duller in many respects, had acquired depth and nuances he was unused to, and had never felt need to explore. Hueco Mundo hadn't exactly been filled with the smell of cinnamon and baking cookies. His nostrils filled with the scent of the well-lived in room and the aroma of food in the next room; whatever it was, it smelled strangely appealing.

He was utterly entranced, those wide eyes betraying what his otherwise unreadable features could not.

The shopkeeper watched him intently, but his face was far from pleased. Urahara had the look of a scientist studying his experiment -- one that was only half finished. Those mostly shadowed eyes told anyone that he didn't care about the subject itself, only that the outcome would provide more knowledge and insight to what he was currently studying.

It wasn't comforting.

Ulquiorra caught that look from the corner of his eye and froze. The hairs on the back of his neck raised, and he could feel little goose pimples form on his arms. He blinked slowly (something else that had become necessity rather than optional, it seemed,) utterly taken aback by his body's response. The urge to shiver was suppressed as he regarded the shopkeeper with wide and wary eyes. 'I am too vulnerable in this form. His presence should not affect me so. Why does he look at me as though I were prey?'

He simply hoped his face had not belied any of this. The arrancar opened his mouth to say something...

"We aren't finished here, arrancar. I'm glad you like the new body and all...but we're only just beginning."

Ulquiorra blinked again. "I do not understand. I am transferred into this form; is that not enough, shinigami?"

"No." Urahara intoned, and motioned for him to lay back down, the look on his face telling the arrancar, who hadn't yet figured out how to free himself from the constraining gigai (Urahara had happily omitted that exiting the thing took more effort than putting it on, and required certain artifacts) that he wasn't being given a choice in the matter. "But then, _I_ won't be satisfied until I'm certain you're either no longer any sort of threat, or you're dead on this table."

He chuckled, darkly. "Really, it's whichever comes first."

* * *

To the former espada's credit, he hadn't cried out in pain once.

His body had writhed and convulsed as the needles were entered into the flesh of the body that had become inexorably linked to his spirit, but it had mostly been reflex. Thin lips were bruised from biting down upon them, and his jaw ached from having ground his teeth together for so long. Tiny strands of intertwined reishi, like gossamer strands of the finest silk were laced into flesh by Urahara's skilled fingers, as though the subject before him were a haute couture gown of the most severe fashion, and not a sentient being.

The narrow mouth opened only to draw in ragged breaths. He would not allow this man the pleasure of screaming out. His spirit had been tempered through with self-discipline and denial. He had forged his resolve against that of Aizen, who had several times made the mistake of confusing Ulquiorra's quiet compliance with complete acquiescence and devotion to the madman's will.

Ulquiorra had worshipped his former god with all the fervent desire of an aspiring suicide bomber with cold feet. He served his god because it had been the purpose for which he had been created, and for the things he had been promised. It was anathema to desire otherwise to the arrancar's conscious mind.

He had carried out the will and mad desire of Aizen, never questioning openly, his own actions an open book for study whenever his God desired to see them. Because of that, never allowing himself to a face other than that of the most loyal prodigal son. He had left such foolish rebellion and displays to the others, and in turn had never faced the punishments and consequences they had, until he had made his first --and last -- misstep. He had been called Aizen's favorite toy, his most perfect creation when it had come to the arrancar.

He had been despised among his brethren. None had mourned his fall from God's good grace.

In some ways, the display of his physical actions made it easier to keep part of him all to himself, though at the time he never would have guessed that was what he was doing at all. Aizen's greatest mistake in forging the arrancar was his own twisted desire to create monsters in man's image. In his image. In their collected features were the ghosts of those Aizen had left behind, whether or not the man himself realized it.

He had imprinted his own fears upon them, and it had given them strength. Each of his monsters had been given back the faintest glimmer of the humanity that they had banished from themselves. He had given them a half-life and a promise of belonging, and for that Ulquiorra had given half of his own hollowed soul.

But only half. He simply hadn't realized it until he needed to draw upon it's strength.

* * *

"The needles will permanently bind your soul to the gigai. If all goes according to plan, it will hasten the corrosion of your reiatsu. In a shinigami, it would simply cause the soul to revert back to that of a normal human being." Urahara explained casually, wholly unphased by the sight before him. "The only reishi in the entirety of this gigai is that which I am using to bind your soul. That will eventually be consumed, defused, and neutralized by the substance from which the gigai has been created."

Ulquiorra's body had bruised in the places where it had been restrained, and in many of the places where the needle had pierced through his flesh. The mottled purple blemishes were a nasty sight against his pale form. He hadn't resisted actively -- Urahara easily conceded inwardly that working on the occupied gigai was not unlike the initial creation of the form. The arrancar was reserved and eerily silent, his face reverting to an unreadable mask the moment the blonde man's ministrations were paused and the pain subsided.

He could not have imagined that Inoue Orihime, who had always carried her emotions like a torch against the darkness, could have feelings of any sort towards --

"We both know that I am not a shinigami. What are you implying?" The voice was evenly measured under the strain caused by bodily duress.

"There is a chance I may destroy you completely." Urahara reached back, and grabbed a glass of water that had been waiting at his side. He sighed, and held it to the lips of his immobilized patient, who drank it down greedily. Emerald eyes were filled with confusion again, as though more concerned with the liquid entering his body and it's effect than any other part of his current circumstance. It frustrated him. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Ulquiorra sighed as the glass was removed from his mouth. He allowed his eyes to fall shut, as though the line of inquiry were entirely distasteful to him. "Perhaps less than it would bother you, shinigami."

* * *

He was unconscious. Of that much, he was certain.

"Do you ever sleep, Ulquiorra-san?" Her voice, even in memory, was little more than a whisper. He could taste the fear rolling over her, though of him or of the silent night around them, he could not be sure. The endless sands of Hueco Mundo could be concealing anything, and who knew what Leviathans slumbered below them, sluggish but hungry in the endless sands.

The other espada would be looking for them the moment the girl's nakama managed to escape, and were no longer the top priority to the security of Las Noches. They weren't exactly safe, but the girl had refused to allow him to open the portal necessary to allow her back to her own world.

"I do not require sleep. But some choose to indulge in the wasteful pastime." He paused, inwardly annoyed at himself for answering the question. His own nerves were still raw from what had transpired, it could be the only reason he was indulging her inquiries. He had escaped the caja negacion with minimal effort, but had not expected the punishment waiting for him from Aizen.

Perhaps it was the sound of his own bones breaking, or the laughter delivered from the lesser arrancar as he had been humiliated by his own memories. Something had caused his outer calm to disintegrate. He had raged like a maddened beast, lashing out and destroying half of the assembled hecklers by the time the dust of his recollections had settled. No one had expected Ulquiorra to lose his calm; no one had considered him capable of it.

And then the death sentence came. Disappointed paternal gaze closed and turned. The realization hit his unconscious self like a ton of bricks. _He _had been the forsaken. "Kill him."

His god had abandoned him.

They hadn't gotten the chance.

He had escaped Las Noches. And he had taken the girl with him, out of spite. Aizen had given her to him after all, and he would keep his present. Even the idiot shinigami boy seemed to have realized that he would not be returning her to Aizen as she was snatched away from Tesla's grasp.

They had nodded slightly to each other, before the orange-headed fool dove headlong towards Noitora, as a diversion. She had screamed, then -- that Grimmjow and the arrancar child could not be left. The child was treating the sexta's wounds (however distastefully) -- and Uliquiorra merely told her to shut up behind painfully gritted teeth.

It was by sheer force of will alone that his broken body had carried them as far as it had. He hadn't asked her to heal him, but she had anyway. Except his eye. That had refused to revert back to his previous state; the memories had already been spent.

"Does that mean that you don't dream? How sad." She whispered, drawing her knees up to her ample chest. She looked exhausted and beaten, but seemed more afraid than ever to allow her eyes to close. Tears looked close, but she didn't seem willing to allow herself any. "I won't forgive myself if something happens to my friends. You're sure they will find us?"

He made a soft, dismissive sound. He ignored the comment about her nakama; they could drown themselves for all he really cared. "Look around you, woman. What in _this_ world could inspire dreams?"

She laughed softly, sadly, those impossibly warm eyes meeting with his. "The same thing that drove you to leave. And the only thing I have left..."

He stared as she reached out, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, a small smile crossing her features for the first time since they had crossed paths. He didn't pull away. Why hadn't he pulled away?

"Hope."

That touch had ruined him forever.

* * *

A/N: Urahara Kisuke. Hm. He's a complicated character. In a lot of ways I think he's sort of the Dumbledore of the series (despite Yamamoto being the old man with the beard) -- _to an extent_. He has definitely has a big hand in leading Ichigo & the gang towards some end since the beginning...but--

I think he has a lot more motivations than just that of the greater good (such as covering his own ass,) though. He can be as charming and unassuming as Aizen ,and I think some of his training methods and former pursuits as the head of R&D (and on his own time) prove he can be as calculating and alien as Kurosotchi and Szayel.

I wouldn't be surprised if half of this "helping" is just a way for him to look good enough to have his exile retracted. Hm.

I definitely don't think he's a bad guy...in the same way I think Kenpachi isn't. (I think being absolutely out of your freaking mind is a pre-req for becoming a Captain.) I'm not sure if that's saying a lot, or if I'm reading far too deeply into a stupid Shonen action anime. I probably am. XD

I ended up meandering over these thoughts a bit more than I thought I would in this chapter.

--Dani

PS -- The chapter title is a Nine Inch Nails song, which largely inspired it.

PPS -- Reviews are adored. rly.


	7. feelingcalledlove

**--- Chapter Seven ---**  
f.e.e.l.i.n.g.c.a.l.l.e.d.l.o.v.e

Ulquiorra did not sleep to dream.

Rather, the dreams imposed themselves upon his unconscious mind. Few were as coherent as those first glimpses or as strangely comforting as the memory of a small hand upon his shoulder. Most were pitted deep in the recesses of his mind; half-formed glimpses into the lives his current existence had been composited from. Few were comforting; hollows were not prone to holding onto anything other than the twisted half-truths and misconceptions that had twisted them into their own damnation. Arrancar were not singular beings.

The personality that clawed to the top was most dominant, and had won control over the cannibalized souls that permeated their existence.

Deeper still however, there was fear. Raw and pitless and black, the same unnamed anguish Aizen had used to control him and his brethren. Hallibel had called it their primal fear, and told them it was something to embrace. Ulquiorra had his own thoughts on the matter, few that were able to be realized in any coherent fashion as he was torn through the experiences of his unconscious. There were no images here, only the sound of screams and pain that lanced itself through the place where his hollow hole should have been, and through his right eye.

Humans were fools to relish slumber.

There was escape only when his body had decided _it_ had been satisfied and replenished. His hand had clutched itself into the placed where now there was only flesh, hard enough to leave nail marks. He did not tremble, but his breath was short and ragged, and his skin was cool and clammy. 'This is foolish behavior. I have no reason to fear dreams. They are merely a byproduct of this ridiculous form, and warrant no thought at all.'

He breathed in deep, and finally opened his eyes. He had been transported, at some point, into another room. The operating table had been traded for a warm futon, and the restraints for a soft comforter. Sunlight filtered into the otherwise empty room, hurting his eyes. He squinted a little as he sat up experimentally, the body protesting with little aches and twinges he was entirely unaccustomed to.

How long had he been out?

By the smell of himself, it had probably been a few days. He crinkled his nose slightly as he peeled away the comforter, noting that whoever had laid him down had also had the decency make certain he was decent, though the boxers and undershirt were foreign garments. He picked at the undershirt, unsure of what to make of the fabric, when the realization of a pair of strong sensations hit him at once.

One, was a deep rooted hunger. His stomach protested loudly, disturbing the silence of the room he had been placed in. He was simultaneously annoyed by his body's insistence, and amazed that the hunger hadn't sent him in to some sort of frenzy. As a hollow, the hunger was almost always present, and was enough to drive one mad. Now, it was just inconvenient.

The other, and perhaps more pressing, sensation however, was a sudden and intense need to empty his bladder. Now he actually sighed in frustration, but a note left beside the futon told him exactly where he needed to go to relieve said discomfort, and to clean himself up when he woke.

'Disgusting.' He thought to himself, as his usual calm and measured gait was traded for a wobbly-legged and desperate dash to the bathroom.

Thankfully he hadn't heard the snickers that came from the shop's other occupants.

* * *

Taking care of certain needs and showering hadn't taken _too_ long, though the regimen of hygiene required by humans was woefully time-consuming. Shampoo and soap were familiar enough, though they smelled more strongly than what he had been provided with in Las Noches._ "New! Fresh Floral Scent!," _he decided, was neither particularly fresh _or_ appealing. 'Why would one want to go around stinking of flowers, anyway?'

He had figured out the use of everything else by reading the packages with methodical care, which was probably for the best, as he had very nearly brushed his teeth with deodorant. The hairdryer had remained something of a mystery as well, so he contented himself with towel drying it off. While he probably would never admit it out loud, there was something nice about not having to contend with the large helmet-like mask that had covered nearly half of his head. More than once, the former espada brought his hand up to where there was now only damp black hair, half-expecting it's absence to merely be an illusion wrought by the shopkeeper.

It wasn't until he had fully dressed himself that he truly seemed taken aback, however. Urahara, or one of his assistants, had left him a change of clothing -- nothing too extravagant -- a white t-shirt, a black button up, and dark jeans, but the overall effect was enough to give him pause. He looked doubtfully at his reflection in the quickly defogging mirror, his face unreadable even by his own accounts.

Ulquiorra Schiffer, former cuarta espada of Aizen Sosuke's army, looked no different than any other person one might encounter on the street on a normal day. He wasn't sure why the thought unsettled him so, or why he suddenly felt like the proverbial wolf in sheep's clothing. He clenched a fist experimentally for a sign of anything even remotely resembling a surge of his reiatsu.

Nothing. He was truly little more than a decommissioned weapon that had outlived his usefulness. Somewhere, he could imagine the mocking laughter of his former brethren -- but his train of thought was broken by his still unhappy stomach.

"This is what you wanted of me, woman...?" he murmured to his somber reflection, as he exited the bathroom; leery of dealing with the shopkeeper and his accomplices.

* * *

"Three strawberry cream tarts, and four cappuccinos!" Inoue Orihime's warm voice bubbled over the evening crowd that had filled the little patisserie. It had become a bustling and lively little spot in the weeks since she had come to work for Thomasello-san, though it was more thanks to an outstanding review of his creations in a local newspaper than her often-clumsy but always well-meaning and attentive service.

She flitted from table to table as purpose-driven as one of her fairies, taking orders and delivering them to the expectant crowds. She was tired, but that was to be expected when most of her days consisted of long hours of class, rounded out by her shifts in the patisserie.

It had left little time for a social life, or even much introspection. She was hardly complaining. Thomasello-san had since hired a couple other girls as well, but they seemed to live in another world from her entirely. They talked endlessly of their boyfriends at the universities, and clothing, and how they really needed to set her up with one of their friends. She always declined quietly but politely with one excuse or another, but refusing them was beginning to become more and more difficult.

Perhaps an empty social calendar was easier to spot than she thought.

"Inoue-chan! Oh! You really should come with us tonight! We're going to this club, and my boyfriend is bringing some of his single friends along! Oh! They're all so cute!" One of the girls wheedled, as she fidgeted with the coffeemaker a bit.

"Ahh..Tanaka-chan! I don't know! I need to study for exams! And I have to be back in early tomorrow, Thomasello-san is counting on me to help him with some of the bread-bases...and.." She trailed off, and peered out of the front window, past the display. She swore she could have felt eyes upon her suddenly (and not just of a customer hoping for seconds,) and traces of a reiatsu she hadn't felt since... "Please, excuse me a moment, Tanaka-chan! Ah..I...I need to step outside!"

"Ulquiorra!" The ginger-haired girl was out of the door before her coworker could object, delivered from the heat of the warm patisserie and out onto the cold October streets. She felt her breath smoke up around her and the autumn night's ice grip on her almost instantly, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes frantically searched over the waning crowds for a glimpse of emerald eyes.

Nothing. Any trace of that presence was gone entirely.

'Oh god, I'm really losing it now, aren't I...I'm working entirely too much.' She sunk down onto one of the benches in front of the shop, still completely unmindful of the cold. Perhaps if she waited, he would come back, and perhaps she would feel a little less embarrassed for bursting out of the shop like that. Perhaps --

"Miss Inoue? Is everything...okay?" A hand was placed in front of her, to help her up to her feet. The now shivering girl was greeted by a warm and familiar face as she looked up, laced with concern. She took the warm hand graciously and stood, a small embarrassed smile crossing her features.

"Thomasello-san! I'm sorry! I thought I saw someone I knew, and..." She babbled quickly, suddenly becoming aware of just how cold the night had become.

"It wasn't them?"

"No...I keep forgetting that they left me a long time ago." She sniffed, allowing herself to be led back into the patisserie.

* * *

Hours later, a large mug of hot chocolate, a bout of laughter brought on by the wild gossip of her coworkers, and a short stop at the supermarket later, Inoue Orihime approached the familiar complex of her apartment building.

It was quiet that time of night, most of her neighbors were either studying or were out enjoying the neighborhood's nightlife.

'Home again, home again…I want nothing more than to soak in a hot bath and make a bean paste and ice cream sandwich.' She thought to herself, with more resolve she had felt that entire evening.

At least until she saw turned the corner, and came face to face with the dark clad figure standing sentinel in front of her door, like a statue spewing small puffs of steam from his mouth…or perhaps a prison warden.

She froze. Warm brown eyes met emerald.

"It really was you…" Orihime whispered, not trusting herself to move, but not even noticing as the small bag of groceries slipped from gloved hands, and fell to the floor with a muffled thud.

* * *

A/N --

Chapter title is a song by Pulp. Download it -- it's wonderfully deliciously creepy. You didn't honestly think a romance, or the possibility thereof, between Ulquiorra & Orihime would be pink hearts and fluffy chappy bunnies, did you?

PS -- Fillertime is over now with the anime? No more ridiculous filler!Ulqui faces? Please? uu

PSS -- Chapter 288. ...What. No seriously. WHAT. part of my brain just broke. 'Slutty Queen' indeed. Aizen, what are you teaching these arrancar?? DX


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